You've Got A Lucky Face
by Dan Sickles
Summary: Professor Eric Boner is the world's biggest Beatle fan. But hero-worship comes with a steep price - in the Twilight Zone! Adult situations and language, brief disturbing violence.


YOU'VE GOT A LUCKY FACE

_This is my first Twilight Zone Fanfic. I do not own the genius of Rod Serling. Please comment nicely!_

"Jesus was all right, but his followers were stupid and ordinary. That's what ruins it for me." _John Lennon_

FADE IN on a silly-looking older man in a tuxedo, clearly an academic type, making funny faces in front of a mirror.

NARRATOR: Meet Eric Boner, sixty-something Sixties wanna-be. By day a distinguished Abraham Lincoln scholar on Manhattan's Upper West Side. By night a campus cowboy, a self-proclaimed radical and rebel, an outspoken admirer of both Karl Marx and John Lennon. Tonight Professor Boner will get the chance to both twist and shout, to become his own greatest hero, and experience the joys of pure rebellion in his own right . . . in the Twilight Zone.

BONER: (puts on a cheap John Lennon mask, and then digs himself in the mirror.) You've got a lucky face. Yes you have, old son! All you need is love. Ah, Ringo! Bring in the birds for the bleeding orgy. No, not my wife – she's dead _grotty!_

BONER'S WIFE: (knocks on the door, clearly in charge) Let's go, Eric! We're late for the Manhattan Masquerade Ball!

BONER: (Totally hen-pecked and ineffectual) Coming, dear. I'm just taking off my John Lennon mask now. (pulls on mask.) Argh! No! It burns! Can't . . . take off . . . the mask . . . argh! (FADE OUT as BONER falls to the floor, twisting and shouting, desperately trying to pull off the cheap John Lennon mask.)

FADE IN on the Manhattan Masquerade Ball, a banquet composed of elite academic types dressed as elves, Vikings, Martians, etc. At the table of honor sits BONER and his wife.

DEAN BENJAMIN WASP: Now don't try to be modest, Eric! You've got more rock and roll soul in your little finger than the rest of the faculty has in their whole body. Why didn't you wear your John Lennon costume like you promised?

BONER: (looking strangely glassy-eyed and nervous in a fake beard and tall black stovepipe hat) Ah, well, the Sixties are over, you know. I just thought Abraham Lincoln might be more appropriate. A professor my age, you know, instead of writing angry columns for the NATION and acting like a big shot, I thought maybe I should spend more time grading papers . . .

WASP AND THE MANHATTAN ELITE: HA HA HA!

BONER: . . . and ah, helping students . . .

WASP AND THE MANHATTAN ELITE: HA HA HA!

BONER: . . . and actually serving as a _role model_ for the younger generation, instead of posturing like a pompous jerk, striking radical attitudes and sort of faking my way through life.

DEAN WASP: Aw, stop it, Eric, you're killing me! Come on, do Abraham Lincoln for us.

ALL: Do Lincoln! Do Lincoln! Do Lincoln!

BONER: (with a grimace of self-disgust) Ah, you know, I am Abraham Lincoln, and I believe that GAYS should serve in the military.

WASP AND THE MANHATTAN ELITE: HA HA HA!

BONER: And I believe, uh, that WOMEN should serve in the military.

WASP AND THE MANHATTAN ELITE: HA HA HA!

BONER: And I believe that EVERYONE should serve in the military – everyone who's too _stupid_ to go to college! And that leaves out all of us, the women AND the gays. Long Live the Manhattan Elite! Long Live the Upper West Side!

ALL: Long Live the Upper West Side!

BONER: (suddenly speaking in a thick Liverpudlian accent.)

What the _fook_ are you all laughing at? Ye're as bad as the bloody generals in the Pentagon! I hate every one of you!

BONER'S WIFE: (sharply) What did you say, Eric?

BONER: (in a panic) Nothing, nothing! I just ate too much . . . pate, or maybe it was the canapés . . . or the baked beans on toast. Must get to the bathroom! (BONER runs out to the loud laughter of the Manhattan Elite. In the men's room, he splashes ice-cold water on his fevered brow. But when he looks up, in the mirror he sees not his Lincoln disguise, but the angry young Beatle face of JOHN LENNON. FADE OUT)

FADE IN on BONER'S book-lined office on campus. A stunningly attractive young brunette slouches in the chair in front of his desk, revealing long, long legs that go on forever. It is MAGGIE GILDERSLEEVE, the famous liberal actress.

BONER: (very oily and yet superior) Now, ah, Maggie, I realize you're away shooting motion pictures most of the semester, but I still expect you to rigidly follow the guidelines we set up for coursework and grading.

MAGGIE: (almost bored) Right, whatever. Mother told me the deal. She says you're great in the lecture hall and in bed.

BONER: (smirking) But I need to hear you say it, Maggie.

MAGGIE: (Rolls her eyes) Hand job for a B, blow job for an A, and if I let you do whatever you want you'll tell the liberal media I was the best student you ever had. And whatever you want means tickling my ass with a feather duster.

BONER: (Very grim) Not this time, girl. (Grabs MAGGIE by the hair and yanks her face-down over his desk, spanking her cruelly.)

MAGGIE: No! Stop! I'll do anything you want! I'll smoke cigarettes in all my movies! I'll say 9/11 was America's fault!

BONER: (leans in close, whispering in a thick Liverpool accent) Shut yer gob, Maggie. You know you deserve this. Just like America deserved what happened on 9/11, right?

MAGGIE: (Terrified) That voice! That horrible working-class accent! Who are you? You're not mild-mannered Eric Boner!

BONER: (Laughs like a madman.) Right you are, my love! I'm not Eric Boner – so I must be some other guy. (Sings) Some other guy now is making me spank you on the ass. Some other guy is hiding his face behind a mask. Ooh yeah, I'm a lonely one, lonely as I can be, oh now . . .

MAGGIE: Help! (Screams in genuine pain and fear, yet young, leather-clad John shows no mercy. FADE OUT)

FADE IN on Strawberry Fields, Central Park. A solitary BONER stands erect, confronting a bronze likeness of JOHN LENNON.

BONER: Why, John. Why did you do this to me? When I saw what I did to Maggie I ran out of my office, and ran through the streets screaming with a tampon on my head. But it's too late. My career is over. And when the police find me I'm looking at jail time. But why? Is this what you were all about? Beating up women? Acting like a big shot? (Pauses.) No, I guess not. I guess, in the end, this is what I was all about. I just used your name to cover it up. We all did. So now it's jail. And jail means black men, bending me over in the shower. But maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe I can teach them something valuable about Abraham Lincoln. Maybe together we can give this land a new birth of freedom . . .

BANG! BANG! BANG! (Shots ring out and BONER falls, as limp and lifeless as Lincoln and Lennon. A CRAZY YOUNG MAN stands over him.)

CRAZY YOUNG MAN: That's what you get for never returning my e-mails, professor! I told you I was going crazy but you wouldn't listen. With twenty TA's to grade your papers you still didn't have time for one lousy student!

(A CROWD rushes up, and POLICEMEN grab the boy and drag him away. Someone turns over the dead man's body. They see his face. Suddenly there's a loud gasp.)

WOMAN: Oh my God! John Lennon! Not a second time!

NARRATOR: We are who we pretend to be. Inscription on a monument to Professor Eric Boner, a well-meaning liberal who learned too late the difference between knowledge and wisdom. He's a real nowhere man, a day tripper who just got a ticket to ride on the long and winding road that leads only . . . to the Twilight Zone.


End file.
